


Come Together

by blueberryfallout



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Bat Family, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberryfallout/pseuds/blueberryfallout
Summary: love you, Mx_Carter!!! merry christmas <3<3<3





	1. Steph

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mx_Carter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Carter/gifts).



> love you, Mx_Carter!!! merry christmas <3<3<3

“I…don’t…I…” Cass looks down at her hands, trying to find the words she wants to say. There’s blood under her fingernails, caked there, under the nail beds. She picks at her lips when she’s nervous, leaves them raw and cracked; Steph keeps scolding her for it but she can’t stop, not when it’s a habit she’s had since she was a kid. She starts picking without thinking, pulling off a long strip of skin, tasting the blood that bubbles up and drips down her chin. 

“Cass. Quit it.” Steph slaps her hand away without even looking, eyes focused on the gingerbread house she’s been carefully frosting for the last twenty minutes, gumdrop chimney and a gingerbread family and even a tiny TV made out of rock candy.

“I don’t…” Steph doesn’t stare at her, or wait, like other people do. Just keeps going about her business like it doesn’t matter whether Cass finishes the sentence or not. “I don’t know. For Tim. Present?” she finally manages to get out, wiping her chin and adjusting one of Steph’s marshmallow snowmen with the other hand, smiling when Steph barks a laugh. 

“That’s it? You had me worried there.” She makes a show of thinking, twirling a strand of blond hair around one finger, biting down on her plush bottom lip and Cass is immediately _distracted_ , swaying close without thinking about it. She’s reading _love_ and _care_ and _thought_ and _focus_ with a little bit of _desire_ thrown in, simmering under the surface. “Well, Timmy’s easy.”

_I can’t give him a kiss for Christmas like you used to_ , she wants to tease, can’t make her mouth find the words. Instead, she gets out a garbled, “Nrgh.” 

Steph doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make a face. She bumps Cass’s shoulder instead, reminding, “Take your time.”  
Cass doesn’t want to have to take her time, wants to tell Steph she loves her in ways other than touches, the brush of her hand over the smooth apple of Steph’s cheek.   
She does it anyway, the only way she knows how, takes Steph’s hand and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, tasting frosting and the strong vanilla perfume Steph always has. “Love you,” Steph says, absent, kissing Cass’s temple in return, her lips soft and sticky with gloss. Steph grew up in the Narrows, kept some of their habits; too much eyeliner and mascara, perfume stronger than it needs to be, lips always shiny.

“Tim,” Cass reminds her, stealing a bit of frosting with her finger, grinning at Steph’s half-hearted snarl. 

“Well, he’s always a sucker for Gotham Knights shit, or you could make him something, though fair warning, he’ll get all emotional on you.” Finished with her gingerbread house, she stands back, proud, laying it on the counter next to Cass’s own; perfect corners, no frosting, no decoration. Cass wasn’t raised to be creative. 

“Um. Mmm. Maybe,” Cass stutters, matching Steph’s Colgate bright smile with her own.


	2. Tim

It can be lonely sometimes, Cass thinks, surveying the city from her perch on a Lex Corp building, the cars going by in steams of light down below. Sometimes she feels like she’s stuck in her own head, reading everyone else while they try to understand her grunts and stuttering.

Barbara says she’s getting better, but it didn’t feel like that today, when Cass and Tim got caught by the paparazzi outside their favorite coffee shop, the press always interested in Bruce’s newest adopted children, the rich boy and the foreigner who doesn’t even speak _English_ , what was Bruce Wayne thinking when he adopted her? 

Tim had been charming like he always is, managed to focus almost all their attention on him with just a few words while Cass did her best to blend into the background, holding her overpriced latte close to her chest to keep warm, her breath steaming in the air. Until one of them zeroed in on her, sharks sensing her blood in the water. “So, Cassandra, how do you like living with Mr. Wayne?” 

She’d eyed them coolly, annoyed, finally managed a “Good.” They hadn’t been impressed. ‘Good’ isn’t a soundbite, it’s not Dick’s endless charm or Tim’s quick wit. She wishes the words pushing at the back of her throat would come out better, coming to her like fighting does. Well, everything can’t be easy. 

Tim, perched on the next gargoyle over, gives her a thumbs up that she returns, matching his cheesy grin behind her facemask. She likes reading Tim, he’s always _steady_ and _serious_ and _vigilant_. Tim can be relied on. 

There’s nothing going on in the streets below, just people late night shopping in the days left before Christmas. When she looks back to Tim he’s holding a power bar, one of the ones Alfred specially makes for them. “You want?” he calls over the rush of wind, and she nods.

He tosses it in a graceful arc that she catches with one hand, touching a catch at the side of her head that moves the plates over her mouth back, sliding them aside so she can eat. Patrol doesn’t end for hours, she’ll need the energy. After, she’ll go to Denny’s with Tim and they’ll eat stacks of pancakes the size of their heads, then go home for some sleep before pretending to be regular Waynes again. Closing her mask, Cass looks back out over her city and waits.


	3. Damian

“Damian.” His head turns, quick, like the hawk he sometimes resembles. Every day he looks more like Bruce, but his mother is still there, in the arch of his nose, his fierce glare.

“Yes, Cain?” Although Damian is friendlier to her than anyone besides Dick or Alfred, that isn’t saying much, not when Damian doesn’t know how to be friendly in the first place. But she can read him, _affection_ and _discipline_ and _pride_ , so she doesn’t need words. 

“I…wanted…” She bites her tongue, but Damian just waits, knowing that hurrying her can make things worse. Instead of trying to speak further, she puts her hand on his shoulder, feeling how small he is under her palm, the collarbones easily broken.

Outside of the Robin uniform, Damian is heartbreakingly tiny. Like her, she thinks. When she was little. And she is, for a moment, blazingly angry at Talia, who made him this way. He’s holding her gaze, a stern baby warrior.

Earlier today, she watched him get chewed out by Bruce for going too far on patrol, almost killing some cowering pedophile. “In the League, I would’ve had his head at my feet in seconds!” Damian had seethed, letting his temper get the best of him. 

“In the League, you were nothing more than a murderer,” Bruce had reprimanded, always touchy when his son’s past comes up. She wonders why Bruce isn’t like that with her, or maybe it’s because she has only one kill under her belt. Then Damian had stormed off, _sadness_ and _hurt_ and _shame_ written all over him. 

Cass had waited a few hours before taking the vents to get to the library, dropping noiselessly to the carpet near his armchair. And now they’re here. “I know you’re reading me,” he says, closing his book and putting it aside to face her full on, glaring. “And I’m perfectly alright.” His eyes are red-rimmed, she’s reminded that he’s _ten_ , completely focused on being the prince his mother told him he has to be. 

“Good,” she decides to say after some thought, keeping her hand on his shoulder, squeezing once. “P-P-Pride?” she tries, catching that he’s on the verge of tears again and desperately trying to hide it. “Proud. Is Bruce.” Bruce is proud, Bruce can see how hard he tries and how far he’s come from the feral child he was. She sees _relief_ wash over Damian’s face and smiles, knowing he’ll be okay. And she barely had to say anything.


	4. Duke

“Duke.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Duke jumps in his place at the library desk, scattering papers all over the floor, twisting in his seat to watch where she’s waiting in the armchair behind him, legs folded. “Could you maybe…not do that ninja shit all the time?” he asks, clearly not expecting an answer, as she’s reading _exhaustion_ and _focus_ and _irritation_.   
The straight line of his broad shoulders are near his ears, and he’s swearing as he pieces his work back together, swearing like only a true Gothamite can. She had watched him tap his pencil against those papers for ten minutes before deciding to speak. “How long have you been there?” he asks, suspicious. 

She shrugs. “Doing?”

“What?” Duke hasn’t learned how to decipher her sentences like everyone else in the family yet, which has been frustrating for both of them, and one of the reasons they don’t talk much. Changing that would be nice, she thinks. 

“What, um, uh.” Her brain is all tangled up and the words feel like they’re gluing her teeth together, as she gets out a garbled, “Do?” 

Duke’s a smart boy; it only takes him a second to figure it out, as she watches realization dawn in his body language. “Do you mean, what am I doing?”

“Mhm.” 

“I’m just studying.” He lets his head drop to his fist, _exhaustion_ growing in prominence. “Or, they’re casefiles. Is that studying? Anyway, I can’t seem to get anywhere with this case Bruce gave me.” She gets up, peers over his shoulder, even though she still finds reading a little difficult. 

A murder case, clear cut; husband murders wife in an argument, claims he’s innocent. But there’s no evidence for either story, no witnesses. Cass could read him, and she’d know, but that doesn’t hold up in court.

“Looks hard.” She’s proud of herself for that mostly coherent sentence. 

“Yeah.” _Focus_ drains away as _exhaustion_ creeps further in, followed by _shame_ , by _not good enough_. With this family, especially with Tim, she’s gotten great at recognizing that last one. 

“ _Really_ hard. Come. Rude.”

“Rude?” 

That’s…not the right word, she can tell by his confusion. They get mixed up. She mimes eating. “Food?” 

“Yes.” Yes and no are always there for her, at least. 

“I guess I could use a break.” It’ll clear his head, she knows, and maybe when he comes back the answer will be clear. She beams sunnily at him as they head towards the kitchen.


	5. Jason

“I don’t need _help_ ,” Jason snarls from his place on a warehouse floor, blood pooling under him from the bullet wound in his arm, reading _pain_ so strongly Cass almost winces herself.  
She’s perched in the rafters, low enough that she can see him grimace, baring his teeth. He would probably let himself die here before accepting help from anyone, he’s that stubborn. He hates getting help from the family, even as he’s slowly coming back into the fold, visiting the Manor, taking Alfred out to lunch.  
She hops down from her perch, landing on the balls of her feet next to him, going to her knees. Batting aside Jason’s hands is easy, and she wrestles his jacket off, examining the wound. More of a very deep cut, not as bad as she thought. She’s pretty sure he’s weak from a series of hurts, bruises mostly, and not actually bleeding out. “Get away from me!” Jason’s words usually say anger and hate, but his body says _love_ and _fear_ and _hope_. 

She shakes one of their extra-strength pain pills from a pocket in her suit and forces it between his lips, knowing he would refuse it and also knowing he needs it. “Dramatic,” she says, an unusually big word for her that makes her smile under the mask. Improvement is nice. 

“I’m not dramatic!” he yells, dramatically. Relief crosses his face as the pill starts working. 

“Hmph.” Jason’s face does this thing when he’s angry, gets all scrunched and pinched. Cass has always thought it’s cute, like a kitten. She’s sure Jason would get even pissier if she told him that. “Should be…” Her voice starts shaking halfway through, warping around the words and making her cough. Fisting her hands on her knees, she leans forward, frustrated. “Shu, uh, be,” she tries again, the be emerging drawn out and high.  
“Sh-sh-sh…” She’s struggling now, feeling that her tongue is swelling up, the words stuck in a rut, ending in an ugly choking noise like a snarl. All she wants to do is tell Jason to be _careful_ , she can’t even do _that_. 

“Whoa, hey, relax,” Jason soothes, his anger forgotten, forcing himself to sit up and shake her a little. “It’s okay, Batgirl, take your time.”

Bolstered by the kindness he pretends not to have, she takes a deep breath. “Regrets,” she apologizes. 

He grins crookedly, grimacing again when the cut on his bottom lip pulls. “Hey, same. Sorry I yelled at you. The Pit sometimes, well, you know.” 

“Grouchy.” 

“And I’m grouchy in general, yeah.” Jason is easy to get along with, when he’s calm. Charming, with that sharp Gotham edge that draws people in. She likes his take no bullshit approach, wishes she was able to tell him that.

Instead, she sends their location to Barbara, with a request for Alfred to get a medical bed ready in the Cave. Jason will stay and heal if she has to tie him down to it. Jason settles flat on his back with a groan, one arm outstretched, brushing her thigh. 

His helmet lies near his head, but he has the domino mask on. Not that his identity is a big deal. He's dead, officially, and there are thousands of Latino men in the city, now that Jason has started dying the white streak he’s completely average. Though, she thinks, examining his face, still very handsome. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be fine.”

“No.” She presses a firm hand to his chest, holding him down. “Rate.” Jason raises an inquiring eyebrow, so Cass corrects, “Wait.”

“I’m fine!” Sometimes Cass feels like the only sensible one in the family.

“No,” she repeats, pleased when he lets his head drop back with a groan. 

“Damnit.” Cass settles back to wait, thinking that maybe she’ll get him band aids for Christmas. Specially themed Wonder Woman ones. He’ll like that.


	6. Dick

“Hey, little sister.” A heavy arm is thrown around her shoulder; Dick isn’t as bulky as Bruce or Jason, but he’s all muscle. She turns her head enough to give him a smile before focusing on her mask again, carefully cleaning it out. Much of her suit is armored, including the mask, but there’s cloth on the inside that she prefers to take care of herself.   
Dick hoists himself onto the counter, balancing just on his arms before letting his legs drop easy as anything. The whole family can do what Dick can, but none of them can do it quite the same, with grace and flair. “What’re you up to?” 

She nods at the sink, holding her mask out to show him, dripping onto the floor. Dick’s smiling, leaning back against the cabinets with his legs swinging, but every inch of him reads _nerves_ and _stress_ and _overwhelmed_. Usually, Dick is sunshine and optimism, but the job weighs just as much on him as it does on anyone. He’s better at handling it.

“Good?” she asks, clothes pinning her mask over the sink and stepping away from it.

“Yeah, I’m fine! Why do you ask?” Sometimes Cass wonders why they all bother trying to lie to her. Dick’s leaking _sad_ like he’s bleeding out, tipping his head back with a sigh and not hearing as she steps closer. She takes a quiet pleasure in being stealthier than all of them, lighter on her feet than anyone besides Damian.   
By the time Dick looks back down she’s inches away, between his legs. “Shit!” She examines him closely, holding his blue, blue eyes, thinking that Steph’s right. Dick _is_ the prettiest one in the family. “Uh, Cass?”  
Taking initiative, she wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing tight. He’s warm like a furnace and trembling almost unnoticeably, holding back stress through effort. Dick’s a hugger, so he settles into it immediately, letting his head rest on her shoulder, all his bulk on her. She bends but doesn’t strain too much, listening to him take a long, shaky breath. “I’m just…tired,” he murmurs. “Nothing serious.”

Their whole family is the same, working for hours with no breaks, pushing themselves to the limits and past, until they can’t. Never letting themselves rest. “Dick.” He grunts a questioning noise, squeezing tighter. If this is what he needs, she’s fine with long hugs. “Cow juice.” 

Clearly not the answer he was expecting, he lets go of her with a laugh. “I don’t think that was what you meant to say, Cass.” No, she doesn’t think so either. “You mean milk?”

She nods, relieved that Dick can know her so well. “Milk….shakes!” It’s a tradition they have together, stemming from when Cass first came to the city and stayed with Barbara. Most people wouldn’t think this, but she finds being around Dick very pleasant. He broadcasts every movement so she doesn’t have to look for what his body’s saying, and keeps the conversation flowing so she doesn’t have to. Plus, his body always reads _happy_ at some level, especially when he’s with family. 

She finds it almost as reassuring as Tim, Dick more like standing in the sun than Tim’s eternal reliability. He’s grinning at her now, slipping off the counter so she has to step back, looking up at him. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day, Cass. Let’s go.” Already tension is leaving him, so, victory achieved, she follows him out.


	7. Bruce

They don’t talk much. They never have, her by necessity and Bruce by choice, by taciturn nature. They’re down in the cave as he pores over old files and she works out on the nearby mats, seeing how fast she can punch, how loud the thwack of her kick can be. There’s something satisfying in it. 

Everyone else is asleep or at their own homes, although Cass knows she has Steph upstairs in her bed, waiting, something to look forward to when she’s done here. She glances over at Bruce, thinking that, probably, she knows what he’s feeling better than anyone else. 

Right now, it’s _fatigue_ and _focus_ and _discipline_ and, especially strong tonight, _loneliness_. She wonders when Selina Kyle was last in town. The loneliness is easily solved, though. “Dad?”

Sometimes, times like this when no one’s around, she can call him that, can find the confidence to believe he won’t turn on her. He doesn’t shift an inch, but every part of his body brightens, like it always does. 

“What is it, Cassandra?” She straightens out of her crouched stance, feeling a bead of sweat drip down her back, into the waistband of her sweats. 

“Need help?” 

His narrow-eyed, flat stare would unnerve anyone else, anyone outside the family who doesn’t know that with Bruce, neutrality is his way of showing affection, giving them something that’s not Brucie Wayne or Batman. Even without that, she’s getting _love_ and _pride_ over the exhaustion that’s already there, and glows under the feel of it. With her first father, all she ever saw was possession. “You never need help with anything.”

She accepts his compliment with a nod, going over to stand near his chair, where so many of them have stood before, and feels the mantle of the Bat as a heavy weight. But it’s a good weight, like when Steph sprawls herself on top of Cass’s body, or Dick’s arm around her shoulders. “Come. Fists, and challenge?” she tries, not sure those are the right words, but he stands, shrugging off the cape, leaving himself in the undersuit he wears beneath his armor. 

“You want a real fight?” he asks, cracking his neck.

“Yes.” She wants to be exhausted, wants to be able to quiet the thoughts that have been rattling around in her skull. 

“Then you’ll have one,” he says as he steps onto the mats, balling his hands into fists. She grins.


	8. Barbara

“On your six, Batgirl!” Cass twists, ducks under the punch coming towards her, breaking the man’s nose as she sweeps his feet from under him. He goes down in a heap, groaning, and she looks towards the nearest security camera, where she knows Oracle is watching, and salutes. “You’re welcome,” Barbara says in her ear, a touch smug. “Clean up there, and come back to the Clock Tower.” 

Cass nods so she can see, zipties the man’s hands, and grapnels over, sliding through the roof grate that’s her preferred entrance and landing with a soft thump behind Barbara’s chair. She’s in full Oracle state tonight, all her screens on, their various trackers moving throughout the city. All except Jason, who refuses to get one. Not surprising. 

Tim and Duke are at Gotham City Bank, stopping a robbery, while Damian and Bruce keep up regular patrol, Damian probably rankling at not being part of the bank job. Steph has the night off, and Dick’s in Bludhaven. Barbara keeps a special eye on his tracker, Cass knows. Her tracker is a bright yellow like the stitches in her suit, a complement to Steph’s eggplant purple that she’s secretly pleased about.

Tearing her eyes away from the flickering screens, she sits next to the wheel of Barbara’s chair, comfortable enough at her feet. Barbara’s the older sister she never imagined having, while also being one of the most competent people Cass knows. And she knows _Alfred_. “Desire?” 

“That’s maybe not the right word, Cass.” 

Barbara gives her a while to think on it, pick carefully through her head until, “You want?” 

“Full sentences.” The reprimand is soft, and it comes from care, so Cass doesn’t mind. It’s good to have someone push her.

“Why.” She shakes her head, knowing that’s wrong. “What?” With a good two minutes struggle, only Barbara’s rapid typing audible, Cass finally manages, “What do…you want?” She gets a beaming smile from Barb, reads _pride_ and _love_ all over her that feels better than anything said aloud. 

“Great, Cass. I have something for you.” She waits expectantly as Barbara reaches into one of the pockets of her chair and comes out with a book, pressing it into Cass’s hands. “Here. Alfred says you’re ready to move onto chapter books.” Cass turns it over in her hands; the book is slim, tattered, the cover peeling at the edges. _The Wind in the Willows_. Barb smiles at her questioning glance, leaking _fondness_ that Cass tucks close to herself. “It’s the first real book I ever read. My dad gave it to me.” 

All of a sudden the book is precious, and Cass’s throat feels tight. “For. Uh. For me? For real?” she stammers, as Barbara tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah. I just hope you’ll like it as much as I did.” Maneuvering around the wheelchair is a bit difficult, but she manages to grab Barbara in a hug, feeling solid warmth. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, fervent. 

Barbara hugs back equally tight. “You’re welcome.”


	9. Alfred

“Late night?”

Cass heard him coming, doesn’t have to pretend to jump like a normal person would. Not with Alfred. “I slept,” she defends. She’s not _Tim_.

“I know, Miss Cassandra.” He’s already bustling around the kitchen, getting food out for this morning’s breakfast, brushing invisible specks of dust off the counter. The house is almost full today, everyone here, even Barbara and Jason, so there’s a lot of food to make.  
True to form, Alfred is prepared, with breakfast made the night before so it can be reheated now. She would try to help, but she has before. Once. Alfred made it very clear that he alone can do his job. It’s better just to rest her head in her arms and watch him from under her lids, deciding to give up on this book.  
One day, she’ll be able to read without struggling for every word. Today is not that day. Absently, she picks at her bottom lip, tearing away a strip of skin. 

“Stop that,” Alfred orders without ever turning, so she puts her head back down. 

“Hmph.”

He smirks, looking down at the quiche he’s warming up. “What’s that you’re reading, then?” 

“Wuh…Will…” Giving up, she pushes the book over for him to read.

“Wind in the Willows,” he says aloud. “That’s a good one.” She nods, pulling it back, flipping to page 43 where she got stuck. David Cain wanted to make sure she never read, and she _will_ learn, to spite him and because she wants to. She’s not going to have words crammed in her throat for the rest of her life. But she’s so _tired_. A cup of tea appears in front of her, and Alfred’s hand on the crown of her head. “Take a rest, Miss Cassandra. The book will be here when you’re done.” 

She pulls the tea to herself and sips, using both hands. It’s good, because Alfred made it. She manages to murmur thanks, and he smiles before going back to his work.

Tim is the first to come down; she’s pretty sure he hasn’t slept, the bags under his eyes only getting heavier. He greets them and sits near her, matching her head in arms position. Alfred gets him coffee. 

Next is Dick and Barbara, holding hands, Dick with a hickey on his neck that Jason’s definitely going to call attention to. Speaking of, Jason comes up from the Batcave where he insists on sleeping when he’s at the Manor. He looks like he got a bad night’s rest, but she kind of thinks he deserves it for being stubborn about staying in a room upstairs. 

Steph comes down from Cass’s room, blanket around her shoulders, face doing that scrunched thing Cass loves. She brings Damian and Duke with her, the former frowning with his hair in disarray, the latter still dopey with sleep, almost dropping the coffee Alfred hands to him. Steph plants a kiss on her head and steals the chair next to Cass, leaning against her shoulder. 

She reads _tired_ and _love_ and _relaxation_ on all of them, even Bruce as he’s the last to arrive, dragging his big body through the kitchen door and fumbling for the energy drinks he insists are better than coffee. Alfred, looking over them all, is reading the loudest, excited to have his whole family together. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says over the din of them fighting for food, Jason with his icy fingers shoved down the back of Tim’s shirt, Steph elbowing Dick out of the way as she goes for the sausages. They all stop to respond to him, and Cass sits back to enjoy this one peaceful moment. Well, sort of peaceful, she thinks as Damian leaps out of his chair to tackle Duke. She’ll take what she can get.


End file.
